A World Of Darkness and Light
by Xkia
Summary: The mage Frisk, years after his brother disappeared in a pilgrimage to rid the land of the curse of Mt Ebott, finds his father is murdered by the peasants from the village neighboring the mountain. He embarks on the same journey as his brother, and the dark forces that await under Mt Ebott meet him. (Based heavily on the Fantasytale AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this was an idea that sort of sprung to me at random when perusing the internet (specifically the Fantasytale AU) I have no idea if this is actually a smart idea but, hell, I don't really care. As a note, this is _really_ an alternate universe, it ha=s the characters and setting but it will be _very very_ different, as is to be expected when transferring something from one medium to the next. But, as I said, this shall be very different. **

**If anyone has any criticism, feel free to tell me.**

 **(As a note this chapter has been updated as of 02/05/2016)**

Chapter 1 - A Curse Brought and Forgotten By Man

For a dark, evil, cursed mountain, Frisk was surely surprised that it was so light. The sun softly ran down through the lush evergreen in ways that would entrance the regular watcher, but he kept on, step after step he walked, the pathless congregation of wood and dirt in front of him leading to no known destination. The fifteen-year-old mage known as Frisk kept strideing in steed of how lost he was. This was the path his brother had taken so long ago and was the one he would take now.

Four years ago, in 1543, his brother Chara had taken a long pilgrimage to the same dreaded Mt Ebott that Frisk was traversing, to use his powers to rid the curse that slept there, the curse had followed him and he had not been heard of again. Over the years his father fell to despair and the people of Ebott became more and more wary as more and more children went missing. One after one they were entranced to follow, and they were found in the outskirts of Ebot, either ripped asunder by wolves, or were never heard from again. Believed to be taken by the darkness that slept there. With each missing child, the hope of Chara _ever_ returning grew thinner and thinner, until it was completely forgotten.

As each child died, the town grew more and more terrified and that terror turned to a great fury, the peasants grew a revolt and then it all cracked, and the fire at Frisk's doorstep had started.

Frisk had awoken to it, the first of the flames licking at his door and spreading like a virus, if he were not on the first floor of his and his father's home then he would have perished but he quickly scrambled out of the nearest window. He had been unnoticed, a tossed torch had just caused the fire and the true spectacle was some twenty yards away.

He found only horror; his father was in the center of the street, surrounded by a mob of angry peasants. He was on his knees with the leader of the mob, a man Frisk recognised as the massive, burly, local blacksmith, holding his head backwards in a firm grip so he stared at the sky. At the heavens he would be saying goodbye to, as was the custom of the people of Ebott when executing. Frisk's father, the once court mage of lord Ebott, was silent, holding the family staff in a determined grip so that he may die in the knowledge of his powers.

"You mages have brought nothing but pain!" shouted the blacksmith and the surrounding peasants, with an even larger fury, screamed, "he made the curse" and "kill the bastard!"

Frisk just watched in horrified awe.

Then, illuminated by the bright light of the home that burned next to him, Frisk watched his father be beheaded by one swipe of the sharp woodsman's body fell and the blacksmith held the head to the sky, the crowd erupted in bestial whoops and cheers. Unbeknownst to them, the curse had not left.

Frisk hid, as far from his house as he could, underneath the large elm tree was where he stayed. The elm tree that stood like a watching idol on the tall hill that loomed over his house, only to have Mt Ebott above that. It was where Chara and his father would show him the ancient ways of magic. Of fire and of healing, of strength and of peace. It was under that tree where Frisk cried himself to sleep.

In the morning he found his father left in the street, his head lolling not too far from his body, no longer oozing, now covered in flies. They were having the feast of their short, sad lives. His staff lay next to him, as a warning to any mages to move down the road to Ebott. With a sad, hollowed look at the destruction of the last of his family, Frisk decided that the peasants would not have their warning out in the open for long.

They had lived on that road, where the summers were beautiful and lush with blooming flowers and fine wine and when the winters were pearly white and all of snow, where no wolves would prowl and where no monsters lurked. It was now all dead with the ash of his burned home and red with the blood of his father.

Frisk wept once more, gripping onto the oaken staff as hard as he could, as if it could disappear at a moment's notice. Even in the gloom of his now fatherless world, he was still enchanted by the gem that adorned the staffs tip, the ruby sphere that was surrounded in vines of oak.

Then he thought of his brother, his pale faced bastard child of a brother, his caring, lovely brother, who would show him the fires of magic when the winters were cold and the ice of magic when the summers were hot.

Frisk only cried harder, he was without a father, a mother who had died many years previous and his brother was lost in the woods.

Then his cries were stopped, he saw that even though the flies that surrounded his father's corpse and the blood that stained his clothes, there was one article that remained untouched, his violet cloak. The one he had always worn, the one, which Frisk remembered would "bring forth the glory of magic" as his father had always said with a warm smile.

A strange determination filled Frisk and he swiped away the flies from his father's body, he undid the ruby brooch and brought the cloak from under his father's body. In the remnants of the street that he called home he wore the cloak, as he fastened the heart shaped brooch around his neck; the cloak shrunk to his size and he turned west to the forest that the road lead to, and then south west where the cursed my Ebott slept with its uneasy curse.

' _All who traverse shall fall to mankind's worst enemies, and only those with the strength of kings shall survive,_ ' he had learnt it off by heart, he had too, Chara would never stop saying it. It was Chara's legacy to stop the curse, to save Ebott from humanity's worst enemies.

"I have to go there," he muttered to himself and he reached down to his father's belt to bring out the dagger that he always held. Frisk sheathed it in his own scabbard. "I have to find Chara," he finished before dragging his father's body to the ashes of the home he loved so much, and burying him in those same ashes.

Once his father had been left to time, Frisk turned to the south west where Mt Ebott loomed, great, tall, and entirely green with grass, moss and plentiful trees. Chara had to be there, he had to be. Frisk knew that he would never fall to a simple curse, he was trained to destroy them with great fire and great lightning, he betted that Chara was fighting right now, with an all powerful blade of flames against a monster of many tendrils, to stop mankind's worst foe.

Frisk assumed his brother's role and entered the forest.

He had steeled himself to find all kinds of fell creatures, to face a great dire wolf with teeth like a dragon's claws, eyes glowing like corrupted stars and with hides as hard as iron but only trees, bark and fallen leaves met him. Sun beamed through the trees in shafts of yellow, sprawling to the ground like sunflowers in the deep brown of the dirt.

Even as the mountain sloped upwards, it seemed that the trees did not disperse, they only grew thicker and much denser, as if it were a living trap. Still Frisk ascended, urged on by both grief and madness, constantly thinking that he'd see his brother just around the corner, just passed the next tree. He had to be close by. He would never stray too far from home, that wasn't like Chara.

Then night fell like a blanket had been cast over the sky, the world plunged into darkness and Frisk was no longer in the bright, near cherry forest he had once been wandering, no, now he felt he was in a void of darkness, where it sucked the very life out of you. That was when he realised the madness of his plans and realised that he was lost. He realised that he had wandered himself onto death's door, sure there were no dire wolves, but even regular wolves were a threat. He had always heard from his window when he was young, the fighting his brother and father would go through to fend off the grey hunters of the night, who howled at their victory to a dark unfeeling moon. That was why no wolves prowled, Frisk discovered, not because their home was sacred, but because his family was strong and valiant. His family besides him, he concluded.

Frisk fell to the ground, and just led, staring at the starless, moonless night.

"What have I done?" he said aloud to himself, his voice thick with despair. "My brother has fallen to this curse but I have to... to my own stupidity." He sighed and felt his sobs fall stuck in his throat, he wouldn't cry again. "Why isn't Chara here?" He muttered quietly. "Why can't I just have Chara?"

Then the ground rumbled, a great earthquake wracked the earth, from Ebott all the way to the king's castle three hundred miles away it was heard, Mt Ebott awakening, for the first time in a year, the curse had awoken.

Before he could react, Frisk felt the ground beneath him split a great ravine awakened below him. This ravine was not of stone though; it was of vines, hundreds, nay, near thousands of vines splitting the ground in a mighty pull. Frisk flailed and tried to grab at safety, but he fell and his screams were silenced by the earth closing once more, like an egg reforming.

A seventh child, and Frisk was very much still a child, had fallen into the grasps of the dreaded Mt Ebott.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - The Dark Overseer of Greenery and The Caretaker

Frisk did not plummet to his death, as he fell he felt his father's elegant violet cloak billow upwards and what felt like grasping hands grip the flailing edges of the garment and slowly descend him to the floor, atop a bed of sunflowers. The grasping hands then left, for a moment, Frisk heard a slivering like that of snakes or worms, and his cloak fell to the ground, landing with the elegance of a dancer.

The light beaming from above then closed as fast as a book being slammed shut and he had to suppress a gasp. He was alive, but he had been swallowed by the mountain.

The darkness lasted only a second though, he realised that the staff was still firmly in his grip, he raised it above himself and muttered: " _brcius et Lucem_ " and the place where he led was set aglow by the brilliant aura of luminescence that ruptured from the red gem like a permanent firework, that he could adjust at his demand.

It was a bit too bright though and Frisk had nearly blinded himself, he squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, both to block out the light and to try and define if he was in fact underground, or if he had lost his mind. With his right hand he groped at the ground, feeling a strange contrast of dirt then jagged stone.

He raised himself, holding the staff high above his head so that he could see where he had fallen.

The room was small, most of its space had been taken by four pillars at each corners, holding the remnants of a domed roof that had fallen in on itself. The floor was littered with weeds and greenery, the pillars were almost stained green with all the vines that twirled and twisted around them.

He was underground, very far underground. He yearned to be back up on the surface, he yearned for the sounds of chirping birds and flapping wings, but instead he was stuck in this foul place. Where time itself had forgotten it, and it rotted and was shrouded by a deep green master.

Shadows flickered in and out of his vision as his staff's light pulsated and vibrated with arcane energy, the circle of white that surrounded him falling towards and away from him as if it was choosing between his company or to find safety.

He took a step to the north and saw that the light spread forth into a hallway, constructed like the four pillars around him to support an arched roof that had fallen down to reveal the uneven rock above it.

"Is this some ancient dwarven settlement?" he thought aloud as he made a tentative step down the hallway. He saw that the vines spread around the pillars and walls of the path like it had for the room behind him. "Is the curse something they created before they fell?"

No one responded except the slow growth of vines and the small rocks that twisted and turned under his leather boots.

"No," he continued to the air, "no it's too tall, and there's no such things as dwarves. Only in fairy tales," he muttered the last sentence with the well practiced eloquence, formality and mechanicalness that his mother had instilled into him over five years ago.

The tunnel lead to to an open stone doorway to the left, it seemed much darker in that room. Almost as if his magical light was combating with the darkness itself to show Frisk the way, if he had any other way to turn Frisk would have. He was stuck down there though, and he needed to find a way out, either to find Chara, or to find some way to recover from the loss of his father.

That thought still was heavy on his mind, in the first few steps he had tried to forget it, but he couldn't help but recall each second that he stood and watched the axe swing, and blood gush.

He felt like vomiting.

In one quick movement he half-ran into the next room, to find a much more open space. At the end of the hall was another doorway. Sconces aligned the walls evenly and torches were lit brightly, leaving his staff useless with his current spell. . When he dimmed the light to a stop and the star in the ruby tip died, he realised. He had not seen the light from the hallway, but so many torches would be impossible for even the blind to miss.

"Then how did…"

"Howdy!" a peppy, upbeat and cheery voice said, only a few feet away from him.

Frisk turned his head left and right but saw no one.

"Who's there?" he asked, still confused at the lack of a person, even more confused that he had heard someone at all. Were they further down the room, in the darkened hallway and calling from afar, had he only heard the echo?

"Down here, silly," the happy voice said and Frisk cast his eyes down to see, not to far away, in the center of the room, in the middle of a small patch of grass was a yellow flower.

Frisk recoiled in shock at the sight, as he realised this flower had a face and was smiling up at him. Looking as innocent as a child.

"Who are you? Wh-what are you?" he stuttered in both fear and bewilderment.

"Well, I'm a flower of course, Flowey The Flower, nice to meet'cha," he said, his grin stretching wider, almost touching his petals.

"I… I-I'm Frisk, Frisk son of Harris, mage of… mage of Ebott."

Flowey's grin persisted, "I don't know about this Haris guy, but mage eh, I guess you're used to allllll sorts of strange things, arn't'cha?"

"N-not really," Frisk admitted, taking a step back from the talking plant. He felt as if he were stuck in the tales that his father would tell him when he was younger.

Flowey looked shocked, at his recoiling or his answer he did not know, "really? Wow then, if you're down here and you don't know about strange things then I'm gonna have to show you the ropes!"

"What is here though?"

"The Underground, silly. You're in the Underground, home of the monsters, and you're a human… what's with the look?"

"Monsters!" Frisk cried in despair, "as in, dire wolves and dark creatures of the night!"

"Oh, no!" Flowy laughed, "not anything like that! It's all just strange things, like men who look like you but have fur… only you're a human." Flowey's voice lowed to a whisper as if he were telling a precious secret, "and humans aren't really that safe around here, there's no dire wolves, but there's still people, ya know?"

Fisk thought back to his father's beheading.

"Yes, I know, people can be evil."

"Right!" Flowey chirped. "So I'm gonna show you the ropes!"

Then, in an instant, Frisk felt his body glow and warm up as if he were in a warm summer's day, but it felt menacing, as if the warmness held darker meaning. As the warmth grew, he saw the heart shaped brooch burst to a bright red, as brilliant as a bonfire that could touch the stars above.

"What on earth!" he shouted in shock. "What is this?"

Flowey's grin turned smaller and Frisk saw that it wasn't as friendly as it had seemed before, even though the flower was still smiling, Frisk felt that he had other intentions. He groped to his side and kept a hand on his dagger, just in case Flowey was in fact one of the monsters he had said were so dangerous.

"It's your soul, silly, it's _you_!"

"This is the soul?" Frisk uttered in disbelief, he had never seen something so sacred, and a flower could bring that out? A simple flower could show the essence of both magic and life. How could a flower do what man could not?

Flowey bounced up and down, almost humorously, saying "yes, yes, yes!" very quickly, filled with glee. He almost reminded Frisk of the jesters and bards who would pass down the road to Ebott, occasionally stopping in for temporary residence or to talk with the 'esteemed mage Harris of Ebott.' They had always been silly and queer, their livelihoods had definitely seeped into their normal lives.

"Yep! Indeeedy, indeedy it is! Although yours is a bit strange, normally the soul pops riiight out of the body! Anyways, it's how us monsters deal with problems!" so first, stay completely still ok!"

Frisk felt the seeds of trepidation fall into his chest, making him feel heavy and warey. Flowey was far too happy for Frisk, it seemed fake, as if he was hiding something much darker.

Frisk's qualms were soon answered when Flowey began laughing, loud and high he cackled like a mad jester. To Frisk's horror he saw the flowers face morph and change, the eyes grew deeper and his mouth wider to show razor sharp teeth, like a dragon's claws. He had not found a dire wolf, he had found Flowey The Flower.

"You idiot! You fool, fool human" he uttered in a now deeper voice, which soon turned to dark sniggers.

"DIE!" he screamed and from the ground many white seed like things burst, they had the look of something holy but gave the feeling of a thing from hell itself.

"Die, die, die, die, die, die, die," he repeated in an insane mantra as Frisk turned to find that his exit was now covered in hundreds of vines, all squirming and moving together to impede him.

He faced the flower once more, who was smiling at him, as wide as he had been before but now it was not cheery and peppy, it was evil, the stuff of nightmares.

"A word of advice kid," he said in a voice that was now like a gruff father. "In this world… It's kill, or be killed!"

Quickly, frisk drew his dagger and held his staff high into the air, but he was cut short of casting any spell by the white seed-things behind Flowey shooting forth, as fast as a crossbow bolt, and they pierced Frisk's body with a magic unknown to him. He was winded by the blow and recoiled as if he had been punched.

One mighty strain of his arm and he held the staff aloft, calling "Fieras et cantr-", but he was cut short of wording his brother's favourite spell by another of the seeds slamming into his chest and sending him careening to the ground.

Only whimpers and gurgled gasps escaped his mouth, and as he lay, near to death from the deadly blow, Flowey grinned darkly; he had never found killing someone so easy. Soon he would have the kid's soul, and then he would be unstoppable!

His thoughts of power were cut short by a great bolt of fire flying over his head and landing in his web of vines, setting them alight. He felt the burning pain through every cell of his being, his connections be cut off by the powerful burn. He shrieked loudly, pulled his vines into the safety of the earth, and pulled himself down with them. He could take the kid's soul later.

Toriel, the old caretaker of the ruins of the City-Before-Home, stood at the doorway to the once meeting chamber, holding her white furred hands in front of her, the last flickers of a small flame dissipating between her fingertips. Her body was that of an outstanding woman but had the resemblance of a goat. Even still, she still had a strange quality of beauty to even the slow way she brought forth the ball of fire and smote the flower. Her snout was short and her horns were straight and snow white.

When the vile plant left the sacred ground the torches lit up brightly and merrily, as if the flames themselves were glad to see the evil thing go away.

Toriel saw the teenager lying in the middle of the room, facing the ground above and breathing heavily.

She was shocked to find that when she took a step forward; the boy raised his staff front of him. He muttered, " _Cardem et cureaga,_ " and a deep yellow light, that Toriel thought looked like the colour of old paper, surrounded his body like a sheet and absorbed into his very form.

In a second, he felt the wounds and bruises the flower had left him disappear, and energy invigorated his movement, but he felt as if he were weighed down my something. It was a feeling that all mages suffer from when they use magic, as if the spells would take a part of their body temporarily, when it was felt magic was useless. It would fall quickly as Frisk regained his energy and stamina but it would always feel inhuman and wrong.

Without his magic tough, Frisk was defenceless; he didn't know how to actually use a weapon.

He stayed still for a second, he saw the fire fly overhead and heard the monster shriek and flee, but had not seen his saviour. Or had it been him, had he managed to set off that spell? He did not know.

When he sat up he recoiled in horror, advancing towards him was a large goat woman, clad in a long white dress with a purple crest, depicting two wings aside a sphere, atop her bosom.

He scrambled backwards, falling short when his back landed against cold stone, he reached for his dagger but realised that he had dropped it when Flowey had attacked him. In one final effort he squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed his staff in both hands and cradled it against his chest in the hopes that he would be safe.

When the young man tried to get away from her, Torel's expression turned to shock and upset, had she offended or scared the human?

"I… I'm sorry human," she pleaded, Frisk inhaled quickly and gripped his staff harder, under the impression that she was going to kill him. "Did I scare you? I… I did not mean to. Did you fall down here?" she asked sweetly, taking a step forward and falling to one knee so that she could look frisk in the eyes. "Are you ok? I'm not like that vile creature."

She made a slow move forward and saw that tears were falling down the young man's face; he had a look of grief and self-disappointment. A look she had come to know in her years, soon it would fall to simple sadness then reform as courage. A fool's courage.

She embraced the young man in a motherly hug and she felt him bury his head into her shoulder and dampen it with tears. He dropped his staff and returned the hug, only burying himself deeper.

Once his tears were spent up he let go of her and she moved back to give him room. She sat opposite him with a warm smile.

"It's been a long time since I've seen a human, who are you? I'm Toriel."

"Frisk… I am Frisk, son of Harris, M… M-Mage of Ebott," he said. "Wait… other humans?"

"Oh, yes, there's been a few. Six before you, but… all have left now."

Frisk's eyes brightened, as if great lanterns had been set off in his always-thinking blue orbs.

"Other's have gotten out!"

Toriel sighed in sadness and solemnly replied, "from the ruins, yes, from the mountain... no."

"Oh," Frisk replied. "I... I have one more question?"

"What is it, Frisk?"

"Did a mage like me ever come down here, maybe four years ago? He wore all green and had a great, shimmering blade," frisk said it in awe, nearly losing himself to the thought of his valiant, caring brother.

Toriel looked at Frisk grimly, "was his name, perhaps, Chara?" she asked, with trepidation in her tone.

Frisk could barely hold his excitement, "yes! Oh yes it was! Is he down here? Is he safe, please, by the gods tell me he's safe?" Frisk had unconsciously risen to his feet.

Toriel still looked grim, Frisk felt his hopes fall. "He brought great chaos to our Kingdome, and slew the prince," she explained.

Frisk went bug eyed, no! That was not Chara! That couldn't be his noble brother, she had to be lying! However, frisk saw in her look that she told only the truth and felt despair wash over him. If many of the monsters were like Toriel then there would be no reason to kill. Had Chara ran into someone like Flowey first and decided to not listen to anyone's pleas and just strike before he was killed? Or had he thought that the monsters were the curse? Either way, Frisk knew Chara had compassion, he would never hurt so many, and he had been one to always speak against Ebott and their many lords and mayors. If anything he would let the monsters live just in spite of the town's population.

"That can't be true," Frisk pleaded. "Why would he do that?"

Toriel glared at the ground, her expression now grim, "we don't know, we had sent a messenger of peace when word caught that he had entered the land, he slew the messenger and burned the nearest village to the ground. The name Chara was feared throughout the land."

"That can't be Chara! That wasn't Chara, or at least _my brother_ Chara!"

"Maybe," Toriel simply said, now soft like a mother. "But reminiscing on old bad times is what battle hardened warriors do! Not elegant mages and old caretakers, so come on, let me take you to my home."

She slowly held onto Frisks hand and began leading him through the crumbling ruins that she called home. It was once the first home to the kingdom of monsters, when they had been small and few, only a few paths remained and the first few houses that were built had been completely rotted away. It was all painted and carved inn elegant purple stone, as custom decreed, for where the king lived; only the colour of royalty could be seen.

Toriel had always thought the custom was a bit silly, and could still remember when she was young, a fair maiden back then, getting lost in the many identically coloured hallways and rooms. Now she knew them by even the slightest crack in the wall, or spider web in the corner. Yet even though it's only other inhabitants were things of dark stories and the food of monsters, it was oddly pleasant, the purple stone made the walls themselves seem like old, comforting, proud kings.

She explained all the rooms and all who had lived there, she found herself rambling, enjoying company for once. Frisk just smiled and nodded at the goat woman's talk, politely listening as she remembered old, better times, where monsters were still tightly packed and working together for a better future.

Why they had came to need a better future, she did not explain.

The ruins themselves were virtually empty, save for a few spiders and worms, hiding in corners waiting for flies or crawling slowly across the ground to an aimless destination. They certainly were ruins, the left behind, thrown away remnants of a previous civilization that only one person seemed to care about.

There was only one construction that was recent, at the end of the ruins where all the pathways and alleyways inevitably found themselves. A small stone-brick bungalow painted a calming orange like the setting sun, with a single tree at the entrance that had all its leaves fall off. Frisk found it unnerving how the tree did not sway, as there was no breeze so deep underground.

Toriel looked at the building with pride and happiness, "welcome to my home," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - A Dark Intruder in the House of Light

It was a fine single story cottage, which Toriel had built herself many years ago when she had first taken the tiresome job of watching the ruins. It was the only pristine things there, the ruins were kept safe and danger free by Toriel, but in honour of the empty city, she left it to die. Like an old, wise lore master, she would let it fade and have its knowledge fade with it.

Faint white wax candles that decorated small shelves that were in all the corners of the house illuminated its' insides; the small flickers of flame were the first thing Frisk noticed. As he entered the house, into a small main hall which turned left, right and down by way of a staircase at the rooms end, the candles that led at Toriel's higher eye level suddenly grew their low glowing life. It was an enchantment that Toriel had cast years ago, needing an entire year

Like the outside, the inside was painted like a setting sun, with the fire nearly blending into the walls like a chameleon. It was relaxing and a soothing display for Frisk; in addition to that, he heard the sound of a burning hearth, gently erupting its fuel into warm fire.

It was the only alive place in a city of the dead and it lived up to its liveliness with a great intent.

"This is your home?"Frisk asked in wonder at the house. He had expected to see something as old and decrepit as the ruins behind him, but the contrast was something of a shock to him. He had been so used to the hours of gloom and misery that something bright and alive was a fading thought. The sight of the calming abode relit that thought though, like the candles that surrounded him.

"Indeed it is, Frisk," Toriel replied softly, before turning down the right hand corridor. 'But come, you need to sleep, I shall show you to one of the spare rooms.'

She took him to the first door to the right of the corridor; it was one of three evenly spaced doors, all with counters holding vases of flowers, which shimmered like pure gold, between the doors.

She finally released Frisk's hand and opened the door with a gentle push to reveal the room within.

It was a children's room, one small bed to the right with a toy box at its base, all with an assortment of dolls and other children's paraphernalia, a single wardrobe was at the back of the room as well as a full shoebox next to that, but otherwise it was empty.

At the sight of the room, Toriel felt the beginnings of tears but she kept them to herself and encouraged Frisk inside.

"Go on, sleep, I'll have made food for you when you wake up," she said and Frisk did as he was told, feeling suddenly tired. He only took off his leather boots. In his white robes, brown trousers and violet cape, he slept in the slightly small, but still comfortable bed.

Flowey was watching the young mage from the window to the main hall; they had left their door open, leaving an open view for his peering eyes. A crude smile plastered on his lips as he looked at the mage that could mean his salvation from his wretched body.

He severely hated being a flower, he could be anywhere, at any time, his ever-long roots made sure of that but the problem with being a living plant was the lack of a soul… the lack of emotions and feeling. That and not having arms, Flowey missed being able to hold things in the palms of his hands.

That was the problem of being soulless; you were restricted of so many things. There was a positive for Flowey though; it was the power of a monster to absorb the souls of humans and vice-versa. Flowey could do both, it was just that a human child's soul was the equivalent to every monster in existence.

 _Just wait… Wait until night, then, THEN, it is almost time… wait for the goat to fall asleep and then the kids soul is yours_. Flowey was close to bursting into manic laughter. The lack of a soul was as if you were empty inside, you were hollow like a carved pumpkin but unlike those, he was anything but entertaining to look at.

Flowey could have acted at that very moment, he could slip through the cracks in the floorboards beat the kid to death with his magic or strangle him with his roots but there was the problem of Toriel. The goat woman was strong, skilled at magical attacks and the onetime Flowey had gotten to the previous fallen human the goat woman had nearly burnt him to death, the same when he was close to the newest arrival. He was hopeful though, the last time he was too slow, the king had gotten that human's soul but this child had to be Flowey's.

Flowey had a plan; the child would want to leave the Ruins and try to get to his home, to go home he'd have to traverse through the rest of the underground. Flowey would spend the day whispering to the naive monsters beyond the ruins great door. He was manipulative and an absurd number of monsters were so STUPID to believe him.

"A human is coming," he would say. "You will be seen as a hero if you stop the human… you will be famous, forever known as the saviour of monsters," is how he would persuade them. That was if his first plan went poorly, he had to persuade the monsters first, 'strike while the iron is hot' as they say. if his first plan succeeded he'd just kill everyone, simple as that, he'd take their souls and move on to the other human souls in the underground, his power would be unbelievable and then he would become _himself_ once again, no longer a pathetic plant. That was if he could get passed the king.

If the opportunity presented itself though, he could take the soul and test his attack against the underground. It was not as if he would lose anything. He had nothing to lose. His life? What a stupid idea. He had no life to begin with, plants didn't have lives.

Flowey's maniacal grin fell when Frisk turned in his sleep, rustling the thick blankets and groaning in an uneasy dream.

He suddenly halted and snored softly, his chest rising and falling peacefully, Flowey's grin returned, his time was now! He brought vines poking through cracks in the floorboards and slivered them up the legs of the bed, looking as if time was moving before his eyes and the bedroom was becoming overrun with wildlife. His wildlife. When the vines reached the beds covers the tips tentatively jabbed the child. No response. Perfect.

Flowey sent a thousand more stealthy legions onto the bed, each of them slivering over Frisk, wrapping his body slowly in a thin cocoon of vines. With one single vine he closed the door shut and descended into the earth. For a second he navigated the dark soil until he was watching from the corner of the guest room. He admired the houses heat and comfort for a second, and his grin changed to that of a hyena when he realised that he would be defiling that comfort. The stupid man did not even wake up! Flowey's luck was unimaginable, with a horrible cracking sound, like that of a whip two more vines erected themselves into a point over the child's stomach. He was going to draw out the mage's death, slowly watch as he screamed in silent agony before he died, and then Flowey would have his soul. He would then kill Toriel, then any possible monsters in the ruins, then the underground. Everyone. Would. Die. He had to make sure of it. He had to have every soul.

It was when the vines were moments from piercing the child's stomach that doubts flooded his thinking.

 _But the king. Asgore, the bastard… even if I absorb the other monsters he might be stronger than me. Maybe even stronger if I take this stupid mage's soul… I guess I will just have the mage do it for me._ A other plan was etched into Flowey's mind, he would let the mage get to the monster king, Asgore would show the child the other six human souls and then Flowey would swoop in and take six human souls at once. If that failed and the kid died, he would just take Frisk's soul and go with his original plan.

"Lucky for you, mage, you're going get to live… golly, how wonderful!" Flowey said, extending his stalk so he could lean down to stare at the child's sleeping face, looking malformed and unnatural as he curved his stalk in an arch. "You might get to have some hope before you die-," he whispered before seeing something in the mage's face. Nothing literal but something about the structure reminded Flowey of something from his long past, of a friend he had when he used to possess a soul.

He smiled, sinking back into the floor so he could watch from afar, talking his many green roots with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - the Guardian of the Gate

For the rest of the day at Toriel's house Frisk mourned the loss of his father. After rest and food, he realised that he was actually dead, that he would never see his father again, never hear his soft voice or ever see his proud smile whenever Frisk would enact a spell with ease. Frisk found it strange how much he knew of his father after he died, he realised all of his father's little habits, from trailing his thumb up the wood of his staff when he was nervous to how he would always drink his wine with two short gulps then a third.

Toriel gave him his needed space, she knew loss intimately, she had no family anymore so she could feel Frisk's inner plight. No matter how little she knew him, she looked at Frisk like a mother would a child, she saw that even though he was older, he had the same kindness that the other humans had when they had all fallen into the underground. _All except that wretched Chara_ , she thought, _all except that fiend_.

She noticed that he had hardly slept after she found him assaulted by 'that vile flower' as she had dubbed him.

Only two other times she had seen the flower, the first out of the corner of her eye on a cold April morning, the second time she saw him was when the fourth child had left to further into the underground. To her eye, he seemed solemn, as if he were watching an old friend leave, to never return.

He didn't even notice that she had reached his side.

"Are you ok, small one?" she had asked.

The flower looked up with a sly smirk, not at all showing that he was shocked to find Toriel there, stopping his thoughts of ripping the kid entwine.

"Why do you let them go?" he asked his voice as judgemental as if she had told him a disgusting secret.

She played it no mind, _perhaps he is seldom_ , she thought, but instead she voiced, "What do you mean, little one?"

"Why do you let such power go?" he asked, glancing over to the doorway out of the ruins, Toriel realised that he was seldom, but angry at a kill missed.

"To let them find freedom, little one," she reasoned, the flower sounded young, she thought that she could try to teach the thing ways away from such evil intentions. Her soft, kind words reached angry ears though.

" _And give up such great power!_ ARE YOU MAD?" the flower suddenly screamed at her. She looked down at the thing with a scowl. He continued, "You know they're going to die anyway, so why not use the power? Unless you want them to die horribly, is that it?"

She persisted to convince him away from his own dark mind, "so they have a chance, they could find their way home and then they would be safe..."

"Or impaled on a sword... a spear, a trident!" Flowey laughed as Toriel's eyes widened. "And then used to make a god, why not take it yourself and stop such a thing?" he asked, no longer angry, but curious. He had manipulated many of the monsters outside the ruins. But could he add this bitch of a woman into his game of tales and lies?

"Because that would make me as good as the ones they would be facing," she explained, kneeling down so she could see the flower in his small black eyes, which gleamed like malicious, burned metal. _Could I change those eyes?_ She wondered.

The flower held in a pigs snort of laugh, he had realised that this was no person to add to his game. "So you let them go off to a horrible death," he said. "How cruel of you," he quickly added.

"Cruel!" Toriel uttered in shock.

"Yes, how cruel, I'm not the bad one here, wanting to kill them. It is you! You let them wander to their deaths. I want to end them quickly! Painlessly! You, you let them run off into the depths and die. You are evil, I am not," he finished with conviction, with a dark grimace as Toriel recoiled in horror, holding her delicate hands over her muzzle as she went over her own actions.

 _No, he has to be talking nonsense. No... no they wanted to go free, they wouldn't have taken no for an answer, I couldn't have stopped them_ , she reasoned with herself. In the blink of her eye, she found that the flower had left, unbeknownst to her, giggling madly as he swam through the ground underneath as if it were water.

She wept for the child's safety that night, in fear that the flower or anyone else would kill them. When the next child came, she resisted for two sentences and then they left, probably to die as well, when the sixth came she stood at the door and tried to resist but the little boys pleads broke her courage and he went through, also to die.

 _Fisk though_ , she thought, coming back to the here and now, _Frisk is the eighth to fall, and that vile Chara is without a soul, so if he dies... then there are seven human souls in the underground_. She felt her body freeze in horror, she looked down the hall to Frisk's room, and she knew that with seven souls in one monster a god is born. A god among monsters.

 _I have to make sure he is safe, no matter how dangerous... perhaps, yes! Him!_ With a grand idea, she sprinted down the stairs to the basement, and she ran to the gate that led to the rest of the underground.

For five days Frisk recovered in Toriel's care, although it was not of the physical recovery that Frisk needed, it was the emotional. He found himself sincerely enjoying Toriel's company in the time he spent with her, and she felt the same enjoyment from him.

She took him on many walks throughout the ruins, passed the best spot to see the deep cracks in the ceiling where the sun shone down to the remains of the library where many books were still readable to all the way back to the meeting chambers where Frisk had fallen down. He realised there was no more greenery save for some golden flowers that grew where yellow shafts of light sprawled from tiny cracks left from when the mountain had grown a maw to swallow Frisk, and everyone else who had fallen into the underground.

It was not until the fifth day that they had gotten this far, and Frisk found himself entranced with the flowers. Unlike Flowey, who he remembered as having darker petals, stained after travelling in soil for so long, these flowers were bright and golden like a dragon's horde.

In the previous days of his stay he had simply admired the working, the elegant craftsmanship that went into moulding the once city. The once bright colours and remaining buildings made him think of what it had once been, of how busy, loud and _alive_ it must have been. With songs and jest. Toriel's stories and recounts spoke of such songs and tales sung in the city and of the many antics, she could remember from when she had been young. It had once been a beautiful place, and even in decay, it still looked beautiful, it had been built with the upmost care.

Over the five days he had learnt much of the city's history, from both Toriel and books. For fifty years, it had stood with inhabitants after 'the exodus' as it was called. Toriel nor the books would explain 'the exodus' Toriel because she could not remember such an event and the authors only wrote of the after effects of 'the exodus'. In the fifty years the king, Asogre, fell and a great despair fell over the kingdom, as the prince, also called Asgore, was only young, a boy of fourteen but his men found deeper caves and a new home for the monsters was built. That was all that the books went to, many ending with notes of the authors leaving to the new city.

When the first week passed was when Frisk felt the need to get out of the Underground, it was brought on by a dream. He saw his brother, with a small smile across his well formed features and glee in his crimson eyes. Standing in a hall painted gold, with emerald coloured banners on all sides displaying a dragon, its tail surrounding a tall flower. Chara was dressed just as royally, he wore green chainmail and deep red leather with a green cloak over it all that bore the same banner as the ones around him in a snow white. To his side Frisk saw a blade and on the other was a thin staff. Frisk yearned to go forward and touch his brother; to know that he was alive and real.

He stepped forward but the ground crumbled beneath him and he fell, far into a dark abyss.

In the morning, he woke with a start, but had a plan in mind. There had to be a way to escape the ruins, Toriel had to have gotten there somehow, there must be a door or exit. He was filled with confidence and the yearning from his dream. He had to find his brother, if he could escape the Underground he _could_ find him.

Toriel was sitting in the main room, flicking through the pages of a small novel when Frisk walked in, shocking her, as he was dressed in full white robes and with his violet cloak. He had his dagger on his body and was holding on to his staff.

"Frisk? What is all of this?" She asked, concerned.

Frisk let go of a sigh, "uh, nothing for now, just preparing for a walk," he said, he did not need to run without words; he could leave with saying his thanks.

Toriel was relieved, "oh, ok then. Why don't you sit then," she indicated to the plush red chair opposite her.

Frisk sat, and nearly sunk into the seat, he saw that Toriel had a warm smile.

"Do you know," she began, "that I am very glad that you have come here? It's been nice to meet someone new."

Frisk nodded, but did not speak.

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, reaching to the side of her chair and pulling up several leather bound volumes. "I almost forgot, last night I found some more books over in the old school house, I always wanted to teach there, you know? Anyways, they seem like they might be interesting-"

Frisk interrupted her before she could continue talking, he saw that she was sweating slightly and was obviously nervous. "Toriel, I am planning on going further into the Underground, is there any way you can help me?"

In response, she grew a stern look, rose from the chair and stormed out of the room, turned in the main hall and despaired down the stairwell to the basement. She did not speak a word as she moved passed, but Frisk saw that in her eyes was an emotion of pure, unadulterated fear.

Frisk, without thinking, rose and sprinted off after her, leavening the rugs and carpets in disorder behind him. He clattered down the stone steps into the purple stone hallway and barely caught a glimpse of Toriel as she turned and moved around a corner to the left at the end. He had never been down there before, it had never occurred to him to explore the basement.

The hallway itself was like the rest of the ruins, purple and decorated with sconces and torches but Frisk noticed one thing new about this hall, the air smelt fresher and when he breathed in, he felt as if he were outside. He did not notice it at the time though.

He made a mad dash for the turning, and found it rather short, with Toriel standing in front of a large, grand stone door.

"Toriel, what on earth is going on?"

She just sighed and looked down to the ground. _Maybe that vile flower was right... maybe. NO,_ she thought."I cannot let you leave," she finally said.

"Why?" frisk calmly asked, hoping to snap Toriel out of her apparent madness.

"If you leave... you... you die, just like all the others. Then... Asgore will be a... by the gods the flower was right," she muttered in disbelief as tears welled in her eyes, freely spilling down her cheeks and dampening the fur.

Frisk moved closer to her and looked her hard in the eyes, "Toriel, my friend, I can look after myself. I will be on guard, trust me, Toriel you must let me pass to find my brother! You must let me try and find Chara!"

Her eyes suddenly darkened and the tears stopped at the name, "Chara... Why would you ever want to find such an evil man?"

"He is my brother," Frisk explained, "He is... he is all of my family, even if he did such terrible things I must see him again, I have to at least tell him of our father."

Frisk did not notice, but Toriel had brought balls of fire to her hand, they burned hotly but as silent as the wind high in the clouds sound to mortals of the earth. She raised them slowly as Frisk advanced but when she saw the face she had grown to find as the most friendly face she had ever seen, she fell to her knees and wept. The fire diapered from existence, and just like that, she had been beaten.

"I'm sorry," she wept, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry... I've failed you," she cried, covering her reddened eyes with her paws.

Before she could speak any further, Frisk moved to her side and embraced her in a hug, as comforting a hug he could create. She, for once in many years, burst into tears and cried onto Frisk, but this was not because she was sad to see him go, she knew that he would fall, and she was too weak to stop it.

"Go on, please... please leave quickly," she pleaded, "and please... please do not come back."

Frisk gave her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, whispered "thank you" and left, leaving Toriel sitting on the ground, staring at the closed wooden doors with despair.

 _He will die... I cannot believe I'm going to let such a kind man die!_ However, she did not stand and follow him, to either end his suffering quickly or join him on his journey, instead she just sat and wept.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Chapter 5... It is Chapter 5, it was originally going to be extended, with it being about five thousand words, but I've split it to two chapters, for ease and contrariness.**

Chapter 5 - The Land Bellow

Beyond the stone door was a long hallway, unlike the ruins behind, it was not purple but grey and drab like the old hairs of a peasant or labourer. Even the floors were dirty and ridden with kicked up soil; Frisk noticed at least a dozen boot marks from some short man or child moving to and from the door. Unlike the ruins, the hallway was simply unkempt, Toriel had let the ruins fall as they should have, but she kept them tidy so their image was not tarnished.

For five minutes, it went forward, and Frisk moved on without a second thought, leaving Toriel's sobs in the background, so that he could respect her wishes.

The end led to a large open space, much like the one he met Flowey in, and like that same room, Flowey had placed himself in the center of the room. He grinned madly.

Deciding that he didn't want to face the horrible flower again, Frisk turned to run back, to get far enough away to think up a plan, but as he turned he found the exit blocked by hundreds of vines, pulsating and moving like rope being pulled. When he looked back at Flowey, he found to his horror that all of the walls were covered in pulsating, moving vines.

Flowey leaned forward, still smiling, "hey kid, looks like we see each other again," he spoke, sounding deeper and more demonic, before changing to his more light-hearted face and tone. "Golly, I'm impressed.' He reverted to the demonic smile "You spared a single person, good for you!" His voice heightened "Congratulation, just wait until you meet a relentless killer, unlike that fool I can't wait to watch you get shredded to pieces."

"Wh… What do you want?" Frisk sputtered, holding his staff close to himself.

"What do I want? I want to watch you scream, beg, and DIE. Then… Just you wait, I… I am the prince of this world's future, my little monarch; my plans are not regicide… It is better… SO MUCH BETTER," he screamed then burst into a fit of cackles and laughs, the roots on the walls reverberating and moving in tune to the guttural expression of insane glee.

Frisk was stuck to the spot, horrified by the living walls surrounding him that seemed to scream in agony as they moved.

Flowey would not stop laughing, his high pitched maniac cackle echoing around the room as if it were a town hall. They even echoed in Frisk's mind, burning themselves into his memories, never to leave.

"MY MONARCH," he hardly got out. "YOU'RE SO INTERESTING. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU SUCCEED."

Slowly he calmed down, his vile toothed grin still wide; the roots slowly began unwrapping from the walls and slipped into the ground.

"Have fun; let's just hope you don't actually meet a relentless killer, _what am I saying?_ You'll find plenty." He said, as he fell once more into a fit of giggles, and roots rose from the small patch of dirt around him and gripped onto his stalk and face before forcing him into his self-made tunnels.

With that, Frisk was left with only silence and a deep, bone-chilling breeze bursting from the hallway in front of him, a chill reminiscent of a cold, harsh winter. It was like the feel of wind high in the clouds, but Frisk was left confused by the chill, he was hundreds, maybe even thousands of feet underground. Why would there be wind, or even such cold?

The cloak was not much of a shield, he realised, no matter the magical enchantments they were obviously not for warmth, and it would not grow soft fur any time soon. So he was left to trudge against the icy winds with only the violet sheet of magic cloth and his flimsy white robes. Barely ten meters from the door and he already wanted to turn and go back to Toriel, but he knew he would only be met with silence, she had said it on her word, he could tell. He could also tell that Toriel was a woman to never go back on her word.

He turned a corner to one of the oddest sights he could imagine, another cold, damp hallway, but at the end, light shone in through the doorway and flakes of white fell softly, it was _snowing_ underground. Such sorcery was a thing that Frisk would have never dreamt of. He dreaded the cold though, he had little protection and he didn't know if he could risk casting a spell, if he grew tired he would die but if he braved the cold with only his cloak, the same outcome would probably be only a step behind.

Freezing, would be the only word he could use to describe the chill. It met him head on, with the strength of a bull, tearing at his exposed skin and reddening it as if it were blood-soaked, it was not hard to walk though, and the falling snow was only an inch deep. The plentiful trees to his side, which shaded him with long shadows and crooked arms, had stopped most of it.

When he looked above he saw that he was still underground, the stone ceiling was jagged and rocky, but still a ceiling; where the snow fell, he could not tell. _It has to be some ancient enchantment_ , he reasoned, _something back when magic was plentiful_ , he concluded, mesmerised by the little piece of the past that gently fluttered before his eyes. These were things that had not been seen in decades, centuries! Yet here they were, lo and behold, enchantments that spanned underground, for miles and miles, even the torches hanging on the ceiling could potentially never go out. It was truly wondrous, and Frisk could ignore the cold, Flowey's words, everything, just to admire the work of long dead mages.

He walked forward, marching onwards against the slowly increasing snowfall, he smiled as it touched his body or cloths, because he was embracing great magic. Something his father would have always cherished to see, something he and Frisk would have died to see. Now he was seeing it _feeling it_ , it was so overwhelming that he burst into laughter, warm, resonating gleeful laughter. It was glorious, _fantastic_ ; it was a rich man's' snow. It was frozen water, but it was the _best_ frozen water.

It was surely not Chara who had caused such madness in the underground; the second he had seen the snow, Frisk knew Chara would have admired it as he was now; he would have researched it until it was his. That was Chara, he would not have destroyed, he would have learned.

Then the forest became darker, all in one second the trees shadowed the torches and protected all below from the snow. With the darkness came a chill and then came the feeling of being watched.

It was a strange sensation, like a burning hot poker on his back, but Frisk did not feel the pain, just an invisible sensation, like ghost hands rubbing in to feel his cloak. A ghost hands are malicious though, and so was the poker.

"Flowey?" he asked the air behind him, but only the darkness of the looming trees met his voice. So he pressed onwards, ignoring the poker at his back.

Another minuet and he was brought to a halt _CRACK_ like bone being snapped by the force of a giant. He spun this time, with no question, and this time he only saw a large twig on the ground, snapped clean in half with the precision of a blade.

He turned and ran, the trees loomed down in arcs now, like soldiers presenting the arrival of a king, but when they passed him, all he saw was a small, half-broken wooden bridge, only elevating off a small, ten-inch dip in the ground.

He was about to take the first step onto the bridge when a deep crunch in the snow behind him echoed. It was as powerful as a tree falling, smashing and destroying the dirt below, the sound echoed solely to Frisk, and he shuddered at what giant thing could create such a sound. He shuddered more at how he could miss such a thing. Another echoed, louder now, and it was getting close, two more and he could almost feel that the poker hot eyesight was right next to him, burning through his skin and tearing his quickly beating heart in two.

"Hey," a deep, baritone voice said from behind, with the power of a thousand spells, "turn around, turn around and greet me like a friend. Shake my hand." The voice demanded, in such a powerful tone that frisk could feel every syllable vibrate through his entire body.

Slowly and with a haggard breath and fearful eyes he turned, to see someone hardly half his size.

He wore a simple cotton shirt and a hooded blue coat, decorated with a golden rim and a hood, he held his hands in pockets on the coat. Garbing his lower half were black trousers that had similar royal rims and leather shoes. The most striking thing was that he had no flesh, his entire body was smooth and white, a round head, similar to a skull, it _was_ a skull, but it looked almost comical and childish, and not entirely human. A smile did not leave his face, it did not falter, or even move in the slightest, as if it was painted on, but it was certainly real to Frisk's eyes. The rest of his body was skeletal as well; Frisk was staring at a skeleton.

He held out one bony hand with thick, lazy pure white fingers, his smile did not move when he talked, "Hey, friend, shake my hand, it's the only way to greet a new pal. I'm, Sans, Sans the skeleton" He said, no longer as powerful as spells, but as approachable as a campfire. He took a step forward, urging his hand up in front of Frisk, "Pleasure to meet you."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's been a good while since I've updated this story, mostly laziness, but eh, I'll get through it eventually. A rather short chapters, but such things are in all stories.**

Chapter 6 - The Grand Master of Everything: Papyrus

Frisk gently accepted the handshake, thinking that if he were too harsh, that he may have taken the skeletons arm clean off. Sans gripped harder though, and his arm did not come off. Although Frisk was hardly gripping hard, in fact he was trying to hold the hand as softly as a newborn child would.

"Good to meet you, you know, I'm actually supposed to be scouting for humans."

Frisk took a step backwards at his words aghast in surprise. Sans just shrugged. "But I don't really care about catching anyone, that's more of my brother's forte."

Frisk eyed him queerly, "Your brother?"

"Yeah, Papyrus, he's a human hunting _fanatic_. In fact, I think he'll be here in a minute or so."

"Oh gods," Frisk muttered, trying to contain his terror. This skeleton was at least decent, but he didn't want to meet one with malicious intent.

Sans waved him off, "Nah, don't worry about it, he ain't any trouble. I never caught your name, by the way."

"It's Frisk."

Sans's eyes lowered slightly in relief, before he lazily rested his hands back into the pockets of his coat, "Nice name, Frisk, good, I thought you were someone else, some other human."

"Chara?"

The skeleton winked, although internally he was holding a gasp of fright, "Yeah, that's the name," he said, with an almost bored tone. "so you know him?" he finished.

Frisk hardly heard him mutter, "Well ain't that news," under his breath.

With a brief couth Sans changed the subject, "Anyways, head over the bridge, you know, it was supposed to be a human trap, Papyrus thought that they would break through the floorboards and get stuck. Now, that'll happen to anyone, just be careful."

With great care, Frisk moved across the bridge, taking several steps back at the first sound of cracking, until Sans urged him on again. He didn't know what he'd rather face, the pain of having a large amount of splinters in his ankles, or meeting this human hunting Papyrus.

Heavy footfalls echoed across the pathway, whoever Papyrus was, he was getting close. Frisk looked to the plump skeleton in panic, silently pleading for any type of advice or plan.

Sans's immovable grin seemed somehow wider, "Head behind my sentry station, it should be safer," he said.

Frisk cared not to ponder why his mouth did not move when he talked, instead he made a dashing sprint to the station, span around on the wooden poles, and fell face first to the snow below. The cold hit him instantly, like cold glass against his cheek and making his clothes damp and weigh him down, further into the chilled snow.

Papyrus marched down to Sans's sentry station, his sources had told him more than one human was in the area, apparently coming from the ruins. His sources were reliable, they always were, why would they not be? They were chosen by the Great Papyrus! Most extravagant and brilliant and fantastically skilled human hunter/Chef/nearly member of the royal guard in the underground! Maybe except for his best friend Undyne, but she didn't count.

He was a queer fellow, dressed in extravagant gold and silver plate mail that covered his ribcage and nothing else, leaving his spine and hipbone trailing down without protection. A flowing red cape billowed behind him with every footstep, helike some great hero from all the stories, he thought. Long boots and gloves protected his hands and feet, but such exposures like his spine wouldn't stop the Great Papyrus! Nothing could stop him, for he was the most powerful and beautiful monster in the underground. Like with his skills though, there were exceptions (many in the beautiful sense) but like Undyne, they didn't count.

" _SANS_!" he loudly declared when he caught sight of his lazy-bones brother just standing next to the Bridge of Stopping (which was what Papyrus had called it) as if it were nothing! He'd be shocked at the lack of amazement from the person in front of him if it were not Sans, because his brother didn't care for much except eating and being a general lazy-bones.

"Hey Bro, what's wrong?" Sans asked with a slow nod of acknowledgment, before moving to lean back on the creaking poles of the Bridge of Stopping

With only a slight glare, Papyrus responded, "you know what's wrong, Brother, not only is there a human in the area, but you haven't recalibrated. Your. Puzzles!" Then he began franticly flailing his arms, to emphasize his point, but he looked as if he were trying to swat away a nest of flies, "You're just standing outside the bridge, the Human must be close, but what are you even doing?"

The smaller skeleton shrugged, "admiring the snow, the endless forest, a _bone chilling_ sight if you think on it. C'mon, admire it with me?"

The taller one only flailed his skeletal arms faster, "I can't do that! What if the Human comes through here? I will be the one! I must be the one!" suddenly he stopped his flailing, as if he had been turned to stone, and just as suddenly he clasped his right arm over his chest, the salute of the Royal Guard. "I will capture a human... Then... then, I will get all that I deserve. respect! Recognition! Friends! Sans, people will ask to be my friend! I will bath in a shower of kisses every morning and I will finally be part of the Royal Guard! Do you not know how important this is?"

"Of course I do bro, and I know you'll catch the human."

There was a sudden gasp, the sound was loud but short and papyrus sprang to action, spinning in all directions to find the source of the noise, but he couldn't see it from where he stood.

"Sans! Did you hear that?" he asked.

The plumper skeleton just shrugged his shoulders, "maybe, might have just been the wind."

"Sans! That was something, I'll go and set up the traps. You guard here!" and like that Papyrus sprinted off, leaving Sans to chuckle at his antics and lean back against the pole.

"You can come on out man, it's safe."

"He really isn't that scary when you see him. He won't hurt you man," Sans tried to comfort the young mage, but Frisk didn't come any closer, he had been tailing the skeleton, a good five feet away. He didn't come any closer, Sans sighed, "fine then... I'll change the topic, so who's this Chara to you?"

Strangely, Frisk felt complied to answer, Sans was oddly friendly, in a way he had never seen in a person before, "oh... he's my brother, he came here to find why some children were disappearing. He never came back. He's here though?"

Sans shrugged and glanced back, "apparently, there's always been human sightings so we can never know when one's real or not. This Chara's always been a bit of a beast in the shadows, an urban legend of the here and now. None of the monsters said to have seen him haven't ended up pretty though, in fact... most have died."

"That can't be my brother!" Frisk shouted, then he remembered Papyrus, and fell completely silent.

Sans only shrugged once more, "maybe, maybe not, doesn't matter much to me. As long as he doesn't try anything against me or Papyrus, I'm fine."

Frisk was ready to speak again when he was interrupted by a loud shout of " _SANS, WHERE ARE YOU... HAVE YOU FOUND THE HUMAN?_ " echoing throughout the forest.

Sans chuckled, "Seems my bro wants to see me... I'll meet you later, yeah?" but before Frisk could respond, the plump skeleton moved into the surrounding tree line, and walked behind the closest tree.

When Frisk checked behind it, Sans was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Many Shocks

The forest was much darker now that Frisk was alone, he felt as if he were hunted, that at any second someone something, Papyrus or any other manor of monster could jump at the closest second and attack him. Almost every step was like walking into a close trap, but he had to move forward or end up lost or dead.

 _Maybe if I just find Sans again, he could help me... or just someone else... anyone else._

Then all of a sudden, a voice from behind him spoke, softly and almost transparent in the way it sounded, like it was going in and out of hearing, "Hellooooo theeeere."

Frisk screamed, " _BY THE GOD'S!_ " and leaped forward. He span swiftly and drew his dagger, ready to face whatever monster had tried to jump him.

In front of him floated what he could only describe as a ghost, although it was only a half oval body with the bottom of its body in the shape of small triangles. It was translucent in its look but it's eyes were not, they were wide and white, dead but seeing.

Those eyes had an odd guilt though, "ooooh, diiid I sccare you? I'm sorry."

"Wh... what?"

"I should probably go now... I'm sorry... I'm Napstablook by the way..."

Then the ghost despaired with a echoing dry of "Gooooodbyyye"

Frisk was supremely confused, for a second he could only mutter, " What in the seven hells just happened," to himself.

Little did he know that Napstablook had been following all the way through the ruins, and only then had he gotten the courage to talk to the human.

The only thing that came from the strange encounter was making frisk's paranoia soar. Whitch was a rather good thing as the slightest noise made him dash into the forest, and Papyrus was marching to where he heard the shouting.

On the third dash Frisk saw the skeleton. He came down from a dirt trail the lead off of the main road that frisk had been following, with a grin on his face he stood in the center of the road, not even a metre from where Frisk was hiding behind an oak and watching from the side.

"Human, where are you human. There's some puzzles here, you like puzzles don't you. Everyone like's puzzles."

Sans then stepped out from the side of the tree neighbouring Frisk's, of which he could only hold his breath and hope papyrus didn't see him.

"Ya know bro-" Sans started, but he was stopped by Papyrus making a strange yelping sound and facing Sans with rage in his eye sockets.

"Stop doing that brother. It's really weird and lazy. Stop being lazy!"

Sans winked, something that felt off with frisk, most things felt off with the scenario, but Sans seemed to be the center of all the... offness, he'd put it.

"Sorry bro, but not everyone likes puzzles-"

"Like who?"

"Undyne."

"Undyne doesn't count. Everyone likes puzzles."

"True, true... but the human isn't a dog either, I think he might not be tempted by the lure of puzzles."

Papyrus sat himself on the ground and thought, he tried to devise all the puzzles to lure the human out of hiding, but he couldn't think of any of his own design. So he decided to use someone else's. It took about two seconds to think through all of that.

He jumped to his feet with such gusto that his armour clattered and banged against his ribcage. And began moving to Sans.

Frisk took the opportunity of Papyrus being distracted and moving passed his tree to go back down the way he came.

"Sans! Could you try to lure them out with the puzzle you made?"

"Eh... why not, I'll give it a go."

And like that Sans was in front of frisk, the mage didn't notice the skeleton in time and bumped into him. It was like hitting a brick wall, and he fell flat onto his buttocks, looking up at the skeleton, into eyes that held only a small white dot as an indication of life.

Sans reached down and grabbed onto frisk's shoulder, then the world became a strange swirling of colours. All except Sans who's eyes were no longer the small dots, but bright, powerful blue fire.

His body felt as if he had been hollowed out on the inside and he couldn't breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he couldn't feel the water, only cold, such horrible, horrible cold.

The swirling colours left, and the world became black for a second.

"Here you go papyru-"

" _OH MY GODS SANS... WHAT IS THAT?_ "

Frisk was staring up at papyrus, who was leaning down, looking right at Frisk's face. He was very much confused.

Papyrus was very much less threatening when you looked at him up close, he almost glowed with naivety and his thin frame made him anything but scary.

"That's the human Bro."

Papyrus's jaw dropped, "That's the human? _Oh MY GODS SANS... THAT'S THE HUMAN._ " In one motion the taller skeleton reached under Frisk's arms and rose the mage to his feet. He made sure that he was a good way away from Frisk before he introduced himself. He didn't see the sway and dizziness in Frisk.

"I am Papyrus, the greatest chef and soon to be soldier of the royal guard. HUMAN, I shall take you to the capital where... I don't know will happen. Then-"

He was interrupted by Frisk falling down flat on his face into the snow, completely unconscious.

" _OH MY GODS SANS IS HE OK?I"_

Sans chuckled, "Yeah... he's fine, a bit green is all."

"He's ill?"

"Yeah... yeah he's ill."

Frisk woke up on a feather stuffed bed, in a room decorated with reds and deep browns. His vision was blurred and he felt like all the bile was congregating to his throat, stuffing the muscles and trying to hold in his breathing.

He didn't even notice Sans sitting at his side, "Hey, man, you passed out on me,"

Frisk felt far to ill to be shocked by the skeleton, "What happened?" he weakly muttered, rubbing his eyes to try and see well. It didn't really work.

"You passed out when I used my magic; you're supposed to be a mage aren't you?"

Groggily, frisk sat up, "I am, although... I wouldn't say I'm the best."

The strange smug smile stayed on his face, and Frisk realised that in his moments of silence, Sans wasn't just thinking what to say. There was something in his look that told Frisk that he was analyzing, thinking what Frisk was going to respond with.

"And what can you do, man? I know my bits and pieces, what can you add to the dull puzzle that is magic?"

"Father only taught me two spells... Chara taught me one."

The smile seemed even more smug, "and was that spell... lets say, offensive in its' use? A spell to command fire or lightning, let's say. I'm betting on fire."

Frisk looked at him dumbfounded, "uh... yes... how did you know? How did you know he taught me fire?"

Sans rested his arms in the pockets of his coat, his eye sockets closed in sadness, but his grin did not falter, "A little birdie tells me that north Snowdin was burned by a human. A human in green." He sighed, "and then the exits were caked in snow, we are... snowed in you might say."

"That's not Chara but... but I could probably melt the exits, I know my way around fire, I could go on... I could make sure that everyone could leave the city."

"It's not that we can't leave the city man... it's that that human is here with us. And no matter who we throw at him, he won't go down. Even the leader of the royal guard couldn't kill him, and she only left with minor wounds."

Frisk subconsciously leaned further, close, like a child engrossed in a fantastical story, although this one was much more real.

Sans continued, lost in his own words, "Lost her eye... nothing too happy. But the human has died down now in his assaults, this is the first one in... months-"

From outside the room a door opened and slammed shut, " _SANS! IS THE HUMAN AWAKE?_ " Papyrus all but screamed.

The plumper skeleton gave only a small, fed up whisper but when his eyes opened, happiness danced in them for a brief moment. He opend the door and leaned out, "yeah bro, he's awake."

" _GREAT!_ " Papyrus responded, " _TELL HIM THAT I'M AT THE BLOCKADE, I CAN'T WAIT TO FIGHT HIM!"_ The door slammed again, and Papyrus had gone.

Sans slowly turned back to Frisk and said, "Papyrus will meet you at the blockade, he can't wait to fight you-"

"I heard," Frisk interrupted, "But I can't fight him!"

Sans chuckled, "Trust me man, Papyrus can't hurt you... although, don't hurt him with that magic of yours... or else."He placed a gloved hand on frisks shoulder, each bone felt cold and unforgiving, "And I can do a lot more than move from place to place."

Then, all in one instant the white dots of life came back to the black of his eye sockets, "So wander about town, take in the local flavour. Just remember, _don't hurt my brother_."

Then in the blink of an eye, he was gone from sight.

Frisk felt as if the world had jumped down his throat, he couldn't breath even the slightest for some time./ Was Sans a danger, or just protective? He wondered, if he wronged him, would Sans actually _kill_ him, like how Flowey had tried, like how the whole underground seemed to try.

Tears of pure stress fell down his cheeks, but he did not sob, he wiped them away. He had to just get through here, find someone else, maybe Papyrus, if he wasn't so dangerous as he had once thought, and find a way out of this hell.


End file.
